


Another Game to Play

by hawkins437



Series: The Coalmine Canary [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Coping, District 12, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Healing, Hope, Hopeful Ending, Lists, Mockingjay Spoilers, Post-Mockingjay, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay, Rebuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 14:51:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2511623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkins437/pseuds/hawkins437
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On certain days, Katniss finds herself slipping, and to find the will to live, she compiles a list of good things that have happened since the war. Post-Mockingjay one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Game to Play

_...on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I’m afraid it could be taken away. That’s when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I’ve seen someone do. It’s like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years._

_But there are much worse games to play._ – Mockingjay

* * *

She smooths out a crumpled piece of paper on the desk and sharpens the worn out stub of a pencil that has been abused by overuse. Staring into the greyness beyond the window frame, Katniss sensed another of the glum, empty days coming on—the very days where food was sparse no matter how wealthy you were, the days when desperation and dread were prone to overtake the happiness and hope she’s managed to squeeze in into her life. Those are the days she sits at the table in the study—from which the terrifying memory of President Snow’s visit has since faded, though it took her almost a year to overcome—and writes out every single act of goodness she can remember.

\- _Greasy Sae handing out free bowls of soup to the construction workers._

They arrived a few days ago, technicians from 3 and stonecutters from 2, other experts from 6. All of them set to work on the new medicine factory—District 12’s new industry.

Later that day, Sae set up a stall near the construction site, giving out bowls of brown and slices of soft white bread Peeta had baked in the temporary bakery he established in the kitchen of Katniss’s house. She asked not a single coin in compensation, claiming that their contribution to the renewal of District 12 far outstripped the value of a single bowl of soup.

They set to work with zeal Katniss has never observed in her district before. No weary anguish and broken backs of miners from the days of Capitol supremacy, but jokes and laughter of men working stone and drills and the chiming of metalwork woven in to support the structure, the merry melodies of their district songs filling the air and taking flight when mockingjays perched attentively atop the branches took them up.

All those people of districts once divided and made rivals by the governmental schemes now cooperating, working together to rebuild and improve what’s been destroyed. This is the future that they have fought for when they sparked a revolution.

She writes that as another point.

_\- People of different districts working together._

She thinks long and hard about the next point to write and comes up blank. The pencil falls from her fingers as her hands slide up to tug on her hair as if their follicles were connected directly to her memory.

Since the end of war she’s seen so much kindness, so much good, yet she can’t seem to remember a single thing.

She tries a different technique—the oldest of them all...

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am eighteen years old. I live in District 12. District 12 was destroyed in a bombing. It is being rebuilt. Our industry is medicine now. I am Peeta Mellark’s fiancé. We were in the Hunger Games together. We survived. There was a rebellion. I was the Mockingjay. President Snow is dead. There are no Hunger Games anymore. I am safe. We are safe. Everyone is safe..._

A soft knock on the door interrupts her and the scent of fresh pastries and mint tea fills the air as it opens; she breathes it in and savours it along with the scent that seems to cling to him at all times—flour and sugar, vanilla and dill. Peeta’s bringing her breakfast.

“Bad morning?” he asks.

She nods. Her face betrays her every emotion, there’s no sense concealing what is in plain view. No need to say a word.

He lays the tray on the table by her side and kisses the top of her head.

“I’ll call you when the lunch’s ready.” he murmurs into her hair, caressing her hand gently with a feather-light brush of his fingertips.

“I’ll go hunting soon.” she says stiffly. “I just...”

“I know.” he smiles.

Before he can leave, she catches his hand into hers. It’s calloused and large, lined with burn marks from the oven, and soft in that unique way that can only belong to him. She squeezes it before letting go and offers him a strained smile that is customary on such mornings.

“Thanks for the food.” she says and the smile he responds with is heart-warmingly genuine—as are all his smiles.

The door closes behind him. He knows that on such mornings she prefers her brooding solitude to any inspirational pep talks he might concoct, and learnt to leave her to it.

She breaks the cheese bun in half and brings it to her nose. It’s still hot from the oven and smells like memories. Like hope. She nibbles on the soft crumb and washes it down with the steaming tea before returning to the task at hand.

Somehow it’s easier to think of good things with his smell in the room. He is beyond doubt one of them and she still doesn’t deserve him.

One good thing was when he accepted her offer to officially move in. That was a kindness in itself because his warmth enveloping her body keeps her from screaming out her sleepless nights and reminded her that not all was lost to her.

But it’s an altogether different example that she writes down.

_\- Peeta baking a cake for Greasy Sae’s granddaughter._

Three weeks ago Sae’s granddaughter, the one that lives in her own world, celebrated her tenth birthday. Katniss highly doubted that the girl kept track of her years, but with the war and the days of scarcity over, Peeta had thought to lend the day a special flavour. Mostly to just conjure a smile, but also to repay Sae for the days she fed and took care of them when they were both still healing.

It was the most colourful cake Katniss had ever seen and big enough for the entire district to have a slice. Peeta had been working on it for two days. The lowest layer was the bright blue of yarn Katniss had let the girl keep that one morning Sae had come to make breakfast for her—the girl’s favourite colour—melting into a subdued orange of sunset, lush green of summer grass, and bright pinks of early sunrise on the very top. It was lined with mountains of sugar and chocolate, whipped cream and animals, and fantastical flowers—no roses—done in blinding colours and shapes only Peeta’s hands could mould.

They both had a small slice and it was the most delicious treat she’s ever had. Peeta thoughtfully chose to cut the part with a marzipan dandelion perched in a bed of green while he enjoyed a piece with red and black ladybug. Fresh blackberries coated in cream exploded into flood of juices and colour in her mouth and she thought of she how handpicked only the most ripe ones for the filling of the cake earlier that day.

What she’ll never forget was the girl’s smile when Peeta wheeled out the cake on the lawn by the house. It was so happy and wide that it nigh threatened to burst her cheeks and jaw. The thought still fills her with homely warmth.

_\- Effie bringing Haymitch books to distract him from alcohol._

It was obvious that he would never really stop drinking. Haymitch had only ever been sober for the lack of liquor to pour down his throat and even then those were only short periods topping on a few days to a week at most. Now, with the trauma from the war adding weight to the burden of years of mentoring and the Games, he drank more than usual. His cheeks were growing hollow and the whites of his eyes acquired the sinister tint of yellow, and despite taking care that would he would eat, both her and Peeta could not help but notice his gradual weight loss to the point that fat and flesh seemed to have melted right off his bones. Katniss was afraid that liver failure has finally caught up with him.

Effie had come for her usual monthly visit just in time. Katniss knew not what strange connection she and Haymitch shared, but each time she arrived in Twelve, Haymitch would wake early and emerge out of the house sober and groomed and in exceptionally high spirits—for Haymitch, anyway—to pick her up at the train station.

She would come wearing an unusually modest sundress, only little make-up and no wig, styling instead, her blonde waves into an elegant chignon. Capitol torture left its marks on her vanity, and she was training to become a nurse. Only now does Katniss think her truly beautiful—when all the excess doesn’t cover her flaws and the tiny freckles littering her cheeks and nose. And she thinks her eyes were playing tricks on her, but she could’ve sworn she caught a glimpse of Haymitch’s lips brushing against Effie’s cheek, now naturally coloured.

What she does know, however, is that Haymitch never drinks when she comes over and that he even cleans his house.

The day after, when she brought him bread, she found him slumped in a rocker with a wide set of glasses poised low on the tip of his nose, reading a book with no alcohol in sight, and wished that Effie would come visit Twelve more often.

_\- Construction workers tearing down the fence._

At first it felt like betrayal, a theft. The woods had been her refuge, her source of sustenance and inner peace for years on end, a place that belonged only to her and her father, and now they were being publicised for everyone’s benefit. The thought of strangers invading _her_ woods sparked a possessiveness within her that could only be likened to the instincts of a territorial predator. She could not rightly pinpoint the reason.

But soon she realised that the feeling was the worst brand of selfish. The woods didn’t belong to her, they were a no man’s land first and Panem has claimed them now.

It wasn’t for fear that she would become expandable as a provider of game and fish. She was, by far, the only capable hunter in the district and the woods were spacious enough to still offer her privacy of her own time and thoughts, to house her childhood memories. Yet she could not escape the nagging feeling in her heart, the itching panic in her veins. In the trees, in the rock crevices and streams, in the patches of strawberries and tubers of katniss, in the hut by the lake and its clear waters, in the iridescent fins of fish and the warbling throats of the mockingjays, her father was alive again, now to be trespassed upon.

It was only when she saw Posy Hawthorne—her lips stained with berry juice, her teeth blueberry purple—skipping merrily through the groves and valleys that once lay beyond the fence for the first time, picking wildflowers and weaving them into crowns, that she forgot her doubts completely and decided that everyone should find happiness in her woods and laughed along with the little girl as she does only rarely.

The woods now belonged to her and everyone, and thanks to their gifts, her people would never starve again.

_\- Volunteers from other districts teaching residents of 12 how to farm._

When the fence was taken down, people of 12 were allotted portions of earth to cultivate. Specialists from Districts 11 and 9 have arrived to instruct future farmers on when and how to sow, plough and fertilize the ground, while livestock keepers from 10 came to teach people how to efficiently breed and keep animals.

It was just another reminder to Katniss that the starvation had come to an end—now the people would be able to provide for themselves and put a meal on the table every evening without worry. Children would grow tall and strong, not stunted by poor diet and susceptible to disease. The future, for once, was in the hands of the commoners, not the elite.

In a few months what sprung forth were poppy fields and stalks of maize, fruit, vegetables, and crops that—after harvest—would be ground into flour.

_\- Nuclear disarmament of the Capitol and Thirteen._

This one came from an unlikely source.

She has not seen him since the day she executed President Coin in retaliation to Prim’s homicide. But that day, when she popped around to Greasy Sae’s to deliver game for her special maple stew; she caught a glimpse of him on television.

Sae usually left it on to break the silence while she cooked—also because her granddaughter enjoyed watching the colours swirl and mingle on screen in shapes that were normally alien to her environment. She seemed to particularly enjoy the cheesy Capitol soap operas with their rainbow make-up and puffy wigs. That evening, however, there was no technicolour drama of feigned tears and high-pitched voices. The television was broadcasting a political announcement, the likes of which she has seen President Snow perform countless times, except that President Snow’s snake-like, terrifying figure has since been replaced by a stern but honest President Paylor and was no longer considered mandatory viewing. Katniss hardly ever watched television herself.

“On this, the first anniversary of the revolution,” she declared. “As we celebrate the hard-won peace and remember the fallen that have laid down their lives in combat or succumbed to the hardships of the times now banished, I am honoured to announce that the final steps are being taken in the direction working towards the benefit and betterment of Panem and us all. Secretary Hawthorne—”

He mounted the stage in front of District Two’s Justice Building, the very spot Katniss has occupied at least twice, and replaced Paylor at the speaker’s desk. There he stood, Gale Hawthorne, surrounded by the cool air of authority, with Beetee at his side.

He promised people plumbing and hot water and working electricity all throughout the day and central heating in winter and all the comfort wealthier districts like 1, 2 and the Capitol already enjoyed. He laid down plans to build better infrastructure to enable more efficient means of travel between the districts and establish a new supply system—all of which had already been consulted with technicians from 3, 5 and 6 and approved by President Paylor’s cabinet.

Katniss was glad that things are actually changing for the better after the war—something she has half stopped believing with Coin still at the helm, calling for yet another Hunger Games. But it still tore her heart pieces to look at him—even indirectly, separated by thousands of miles and a screen—particularly when he looked directly into the camera and met her gaze. She flinched and turned to leave, yet his words instantly drew her back to screen.

It was his last statement that truly marked an end of an era.

“As a demonstration,” he said. “To mark the end of the seventy-five years-worth of tyranny, Districts 2 and 13 are to be stripped of their nuclear weapons and the resources gained from their dismantlement shall be utilised in the power-plants of District 5 and converted to electricity to be used in the homes and factories across Panem.”

The time of hidden leverages and rogue districts was over, concluded for once and for all by Gale’s announcement. She wished Prim had lived to see it, to see Panem cooperate and flourish, but that privilege was stripped from her by greed and ruthless calculus. And to an extent, the very man who had just proclaimed nuclear disarmament, was at fault—a thing she would never forget and likely never forgive.

It was then that Katniss finally left the living room, deciding to value the positive and silence the could-have-beens racing around in her head.

 

* * *

 

She decides that it’s enough bullet points to pull her through the day, and dresses up in her hunting clothes—the worn leather boots that fit her feet perfectly, a pair of woollen pants and her father’s hunting jacket over a cotton dark green shirt. She slings the quiver of arrows over her shoulder and grabs by far the most prized possession of hers—the bow her father has crafted for her years and years ago.

She leaves the house without telling him a word, but makes sure to do it loud enough for him to notice her departure while he works. The house is pleasantly filled with the mingled scents of spices and freshly baked goods.

She walks through the town, observes the square being rebuilt, pavements being laid down where there was nothing but trampled paths of mud before; sees the progress the new settlers have done throughout the hours of the past week. It feels alien, this new District 12, as if she were just a visitor from a faraway land—and maybe she is, in a way, having travelled so many places, having seen so many scenes—scenes that still hunt her at night. Even her meadow looks different, she mentally remarks, looking at the fresh grass covering the mass grave. Somewhere underneath is where her kills lie—Peeta’s family, her friend Madge and the Undersees, others that haven’t made to Thirteen—some of which she knew from the Hob, others that were a part of her father’s mining crew, Rooba the butcher to whom she used to sell meat, the Goat Man... Days and months have passed, a year, and she still didn’t come to terms with all her faults, although no one said a word of blame to her. Guilt hardly ever cares about personal opinions, however.

She strolls through the tall grass and around the new-built houses and farmlands, tries to remember the exact position of the fence that stands there no longer. Only the growing outline of forest remains familiar.

She passes Thom’s house on her way to the rock she used to sit with Gale, submerged deep within her thoughts. She tries to force a smile on her face, but even with the sun warming her features it’s hard to maintain.

She stops in her tracks and breathes in the air coming from the mountains, chilly with the promise of autumn. Mockingjays’ song fills her ears—a merry tune of the workers from town, imported from another district. Katniss doesn’t recognise the song, but in the throats of the mockingjays it’s infinitely familiar and embodies memories long past and gone. The breeze enveloping her and tugging at the stray strands of hair that have fallen out of her braid almost feels like her father’s hands—somehow always cool, even in summer’s heat.

Her next step towards the woods is more resolute than those preceding it, but so is the voice coming from the fence of the house she left behind. She turns.

Thom comes chasing after her through the tall grass, calling out her name. He used to be a part of Gale’s mining crew and helped carry him to her family’s house that fateful day of the whipping and was among the first to return to Twelve after the war; now, with the mines closed forever, he is but a farmer living a simple life at the edge of the woods—that is, if he hadn’t recently been elected a mayor of the recovering district.

“Katniss,” he says. “I’ve been meaning to stop by at your house. There’s something that you really ought to see.”

She follows him soundlessly to a barn that houses several animals—among them a young heifer, a few hens and a goat. A goat. Snow-white with patches of midnight black and a set of scars on her shoulder like—

“This can’t be.” she breathes out.

“Found her in the middle of the forest when I was gathering firewood the other day, just chomping grass like nothing could faze her. Figured whose she was right away.”

A tear rushes from the corner of her eye. It’s definitely, undoubtedly _her._ Lady. It even has that ribbon tied around the neck still, though it’s tattered and dirty. Katniss doesn’t know how it managed to survive through the bombing, but she suspects the goat must’ve scared and ran away before the danger reached her and now it stands there, unsuspecting and chewing on straw.

Katniss recalls the day she bought the animal from the Goat Man, how her mother fought hard to restore it to health. But most of all she remembers the silly smile Prim wore when she first laid her eyes on it, her tears of joy and giddy laughter, how she huddled up with it on a blanket by the fire. Her knees give out and she kneels next to it, wrapping her arms around its neck as if it were her sister. The goat sniffs at her hair uncertainly at first, but then licks her cheek as she did Prim’s that night.

Katniss clings onto the animal for dear life as the tears stream down her face.

“Lady,” she mutters under her breath. “How’d you made it out?”

It’s Thom’s voice that answers, “I’ve no idea.” he shrugs. “Hold on, I’ll give you a rope to lead her home on.”

She lifts her eyes to the young man and mouths a silent _thank you._

“You’re welcome, Katniss, we all owe you one. Or a dozen.” he smiles.

Yet it’s Katniss who feels more indebted—for all the lives she unintentionally stole by being too rebellious for President Snow to tolerate.

_At least they weren’t wasted, though,_ —that’s her only consolation now that Panem is free and she haunted by faces—some of which she hardly knew. Had the revolution failed... well, she wouldn’t live long enough to take the blame.

When she arrives home and sneaks into the study with tears still pouring from her eyes, she puts down one last point for the day.

_\- Thom finding Prim’s goat._


End file.
